Picture Perfect

Chapter 15- Part 1

A lightning-like flash passes before Andrew's eyes, momentarily blinding him. He squints his eyes closed for a moment in an attempt to disperse the black spots dancing in his vision. The brilliant white light brings with it an overwhelming sense of trepidation, one that chills Andrew to his bones. Purely out of instinct, he crouches down, drawing his legs tightly against his chest. The position delivers a feeling of comfort, however faintly, as he huddles into the corner of the unfamiliar room.

Another bright burst surfaces, causing Andrew to retreat further into himself, burying his face into his arms in search of protection. With his heart racing at an inhuman pace, he feels incapable of catching his breath. His lungs burn as they try to take in enough oxygen, his chest heaving desperately regardless of his inability to get enough air, leaving Andrew feeling even more terrified. He can't breathe.

A single drop of cool water falls from above, landing on the back of Andrew's neck and rolling down the back of his shirt. He hadn't even realized how hot he was until the droplet touched his clammy skin, practically sizzling at the impact. Another raindrop falls, followed by many more as rain begins to pour down around him, soaking him thoroughly. The water cools his fever, and the drastic change in temperature slightly soothes his labored breathing, easing the strain on his constricting lungs. Andrew's body, however, begins shaking under the cold precipitation, shivering to retain warmth.

The flashes repeat rapidly, constantly illuminating the dark night with their eerie and intimidating light. Squeezing his eyes shut, Andrew silently counts his breaths, giving a number to every intake and exhale in an attempt to drive his panic away. Slowly, he lifts his head from his arms, peering into the black abyss he has unknowingly become lost in. Suddenly surrounded by steep walls as the scenery changes before his eyes, Andrew cautiously reaches out a hand to touch one. Dirt crumbles under his fingertips, falling to his feet. Understanding rushes to his mind, Andrew's eyes widening in surprise at the confined space he's abruptly trapped within. He pulls himself to his feet on wobbly legs, bracing an arm against the ever-growing side of the hole. Turning his face skyward, Andrew is wholly disheartened to realize that there is no evidence of an opening; he has no idea how deep he is immersed in the earth, and there is no sign of a possible escape.

"Andrew," an ominous voice calls, causing gooseflesh to erupt on his chilled skin. "Andrew," it murmurs again, haunting him. There's a ghost of familiarity to the sound, to the way it says his name, one that has a torrential combination of fear and sorrow whirling within his stomach. It's almost enough to upend him entirely, his insides contracting as they attempt to force up his stomach's contents.

Choking back his feelings of despair and the overwhelming urge to vomit, Andrew does his best to maintain a semblance of composure and replies, "Who are you? And what do you want from me?" A slight sense of relief temporarily calms him at his ability to keep his voice from cracking, however minuscule the achievement at a time like this.

His relief is short-lived as an obnoxious and malicious cackle echoes through the darkness, the dread returning to him tenfold and turning his blood cold. "You don't recognize me?" the voice asks, sounding strangely amused by the situation. Appearing out of nowhere, a figure suddenly stands before Andrew, looming dangerously.

Squinting his eyes in the lack of light, Andrew quickly assesses the form, his gaze hurrying over the tall stature. While it's challenging to make out facial features in such conditions, he could recognize that evil grin anywhere; his entire being trembling at the detrimental realization.

A loud, bellowing laugh fills the void before the figure wickedly laughs, "You recognize your own father, don't you?"

Before Andrew can utter a response, he's shaken awake, the action removing him from the hellish dream. Gasping for air, he greedily fills his lungs as he sits up in the bed. His hair, skin, and clothes are entirely drenched in sweat, his eyes filled with unshed tears. Trying to completely block the vision from his mind, Andrew gently turns to his wife. The fear-stricken concern on her face causes his heart to clench in his chest. "Thank you," he whispers, forcing a barely-there smile onto his lips.

"Are you okay?" Cora asks, carefully pushing her husband's damp hair from his forehead, her eyes searching his face.

Andrew's arms immediately circle around her, his heart aching to free her from the distress swimming in her eyes. "It was just a bad dream," he replies shakily, holding her closely. Her mere presence seems to calm him significantly.

With a sigh, Cora quietly says, "Perhaps you've been working too much. Too much stress could take a serious toll on your body." While she knows there's more to the story, she doesn't push her husband to give her the details; something about the terror in his eyes tells her it's best to keep silent for now.

"Don't worry about me; I'll be okay," Andrew insists, although he can't entirely convince himself to believe it. "But perhaps you're right; maybe I am working too hard lately." 'Or there are other things going on increasing my stress levels,' he thinks to himself. He'll definitely have to solve his Maria problem as quickly as possible.

"Will you be able to go back to sleep?" asks Cora worriedly, her blue eyes gleaming in the soft light of the moon that seeps in through their bedroom window. "Shall I get you some warm milk?"

Humming in reply, Andrew rests back on his pillow, his wife still in his arms. "I'll be okay," he says, rubbing soothing circles into Cora's lower back with his thumb. "Let's just stay like this."

Satisfied with his response, Cora relaxes into her husband's embrace before drifting off to sleep. Unfortunately for Andrew, his vulnerabilities refuse him the same comfort, intent on tormenting him indefinitely.